


A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

by Winoniel



Category: The Administration - Manna Francis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 14:52:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17045750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winoniel/pseuds/Winoniel
Summary: As newly-promoted Assistant Director of Homeland Security, Carl Ruiz can only really live in his dreams.





	A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hpstrangelove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpstrangelove/gifts).



> Thanks to the mods for yet again running a fantastic fest!  
> Hpstrangelove, I hope that I hit at least a couple of your kinks! Happy Yuletide!

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

Impossible! Carl looked at the man sitting across from him. For the first time since Senior Para-Investigator Toreth had come to Washington, Carl felt uncomfortable sitting next to him, and had chosen to ride to the airport in the facing seat. However, even with Carl’s new-found knowledge, he couldn’t tell just from looking at the man. Tall and athletic, with golden blond hair and striking blue eyes, the para-investigator looked like a normal guy. The thought that he actually indulged in…

Catching himself, Carl cleared his throat gently, but the man didn’t even twitch. Finally, Carl said, “You broke McGlothlin’s arm.”

The man looked up from his hand screen. “Yes?” As his hand moved to touch the screen, Carl could see the muscles in his arm flex. He certainly seemed well-built.

“I mean, he’s a red-blooded kinda guy, for a lawyer, and you just—” Carl turned his arm, miming Toreth’s move in the Buchheit’s orchard. “Snapped his arm. I mean...” It was impossible! Carl’s voice trailed off as his mind struggled with how strong the man had to be. How could such a well-built, capable man be a deviant, how could… 

Toreth narrowed his eyes, apparently irritated that Carl was questioning his prowess. “It’s part of the job. Guards can’t do everything. Anyone who deals with prisoners has to go on a lot of boring refresher courses, because it embarrasses I&I if some sab kicks the shit out of one of us when we try to arrest them.”

So he has to deal with dangerous prisoners? He has to restrain them, hold them tightly, while they struggled to be released—Carl’s mind grayed and restarted before more images could emerge. Why was he thinking these thoughts all of a sudden? He knew that Toreth wasn’t interested in him, they’d spent hours together, and Carl would know. Of course, how much time had Carl had ever spent with a known homosexual? But no, Toreth couldn’t be. Carl remembered a few instances that contradicted that. He knew the man was finishing up some work, but Carl couldn’t help himself. He started again, “You know, I was sure I saw you looking at Deborah Mayhew in an appreciative kinda way. And Agent Cardine, come to that.”

Carl saw comprehension dawning on Toreth’s face. The British man snorted. “Like I told B-C, Cardine had great legs. And Mayhew...well, I asked her out for dinner, but she turned me down. Probably a good thing, considering who her father is.”

Wait, so he wasn’t a deviant? He didn’t like to do… make lo— Carl took a deep breath. He was a grown man, and an agent of Homeland Security, for crying out loud. He could say the term, even if only to himself. So Toreth _didn’t_ sodomize— _or was sodomized by_ —and at the image of the powerful, lithe investigator bending over with another man naked behind him, Carl’s mind blanked out.

Toreth continued to work, finally snapping his screen shut, and leaned back in the seat.

“This, um. This ‘registered’ guy,” Carl said awkwardly, not knowing what else to call a male lover.

“Warrick?”

“Were you—I mean, you and he—back when Cardine and I were in New London?”

“Yeah, we were. Although we weren’t registered partners then. That has more to do with some resister arseholes who looted my flat, trashed everything I owned, and made me homeless. If you’d ever tangled with the Central Housing Division, you’d know why I didn’t want to wait for them to pull their fingers out and find me a new place. Warrick was much more convenient.” Toreth stretched out his legs nonchalantly. “He’s a great cook, among other things.”

“I see.” Carl tried to imagine a scene of domestic harmony between anyone and this man that reeked of barely veiled power. He froze at flashes of sweaty skin over hard, muscled bodies draped over counter tops. What was wrong with him? Disgusted with himself, he shook his head. “And do the rest of your team know?”

“That I’m fucking Warrick? Or just that I fuck men in general? I should think the whole division knows that. Although I don’t do it in the office, you know.” 

Fuc—Senior Para-Investigator Toreth fu—fucking a man. Senior Para-Investigator Toreth actually putting a man on his hands and knees, coming up behind that man, and putting his penis into the man’s anus. The idea of that small hole being filled with a large, throbbing hard appendage—Carl twitched with the graphic brutality of the scene developing in his head, then felt amazed as the pictures transformed to some of more sensual carnality, with skin sliding over skin, soft moans, and sudden cries. 

But—but…he found his voice. “But the investigator in your team, Barret-Connor, he suggested the reorientation treatment. Wasn’t he worried you’d be offended?”

“It got that idiot Elliot boy out of I&I. Psychoprogramming does a lot worse, every day. Or did, before most of them were strung up by the resisters.”

Carl stared at the other man. “Still, it must’ve seemed—well, you have to understand that as far as we were concerned, what Luke Elliot was doing was immoral as well as illegal. But I guess it must’ve felt kinda awkward for you, considering the circumstances.”

The other man smiled. Carl ignored how his stomach twisted at the sight. “Not really. The Bureau asked me to do a job, I did it.”

“Oh. Did you tell your, uh, partner about it?”

“No. He’s not interested in I&I cases. I won’t be telling him about this one, either. I’m just planning to get home—” Toreth checked the time. “Get home, wake him up, and fuck him until he screams.”

Carl closed his eyes. He’d go to confession in the morning. In the meantime, he let his imagination run wild, with pictures of unrestrained, godless European men running about sodomizing each other. 

The rest of the drive to the airport passed in silence.*  
*Dialogue taken from _Blood and Circuses_.

ADiaWYHM

Carl jerked awake. It had been the same dream, sick and disgusting. He turned to looked at Lydia sleeping peacefully beside him. She had no idea how perverse and sordid her husband’s inner life had become. Sighing, he rolled out of bed and headed into the bathroom, pulling up his priest’s confessional schedule on his handscreen. Seeing an early morning time, he breathed a sigh of relief just before he secured it, dashed through a shower, grabbed an energy bar and left a message for Lydia.

Entering the church and bowing his head as he moved past the main altar, he paused for a moment to light a candle at the altar to the virgin, and then headed over to the confessional.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…” he began the time-honored ritual. He continued to intone the words, waiting for the feeling of comfort and healing to flow over him. He’d come to depend on these sessions for consolation and reassurance. But now the time that he’d always hated had come, and he hesitated before whispering, “I have had carnal thoughts about men, and I seek penance and absolution.”

There was a long pause, then the voice from the other side of the grill said, cautiously, “My son, if I might be allowed a personal comment, you have come with these thoughts for over six months now. As a member of the church, we sit uncomfortably within the world of governments and law. I am not duty bound to report you—”

Carl’s heart froze. Was this the day that he’d long feared?

“—however, I am going to assign as your penance that you schedule a few sessions with a psychiatric modification specialist. They can not only help you to strengthen your will power to resist these urges, but also to create a mental and emotional landscape in which such desires will no longer be an option. You need not even tell you wife the particulars, perhaps maybe intimate that it has to do with your work, hmmm?” 

The calm voice gave Carl hope. He could beat this!

ADiaWYHM

He had beaten it. After only six sessions with a woman suspiciously like Dr. Sarah Cardine—in which they’d achieved some “deep-seated reorientation of disordered thinking,” through affirmations, prayer, drugs, and an hour in a cognitive reconditioning machine which was surprisingly refreshing—Carl had felt free of the disturbing dreams and the resultant physical responses.

There had been one serious bump in the therapy, though. Carl had to admit that when he’d spent six months at the North American embassy in New London, he’d learned a lot about the social aspects of the European Administration. He’d hid his knowledge, but he’d known about the sexual freedom European citizens enjoyed. He’d even suspected when his director’s kid, Luke Elliot, started behaving oddly, that the boy was sampling what the Administration had on offer sexually.  
Carl had known about sexual openness in the European Administration, and he hadn’t been as repulsed as he’d pretended. 

He _had_ been thoroughly taken by surprise with his eagerness to work again with the senior para-investigator, though. When working with him on the Elliot case, Toreth’s capable handling of the legal, political, and diplomatic intricacies of the assignment had impressed Carl. At the same time, he had been continually surprised at how Toreth could callously dismiss governmental corruption and abuses, human degradation, and moral relativism with a blank shrug. However, it wasn’t Carl’s country and he didn’t have to deal with the para-investigator on a daily basis, so Carl soon shelved his disquiet. 

He had admired Toreth’s efficiency and detective talents, and when he’d learned that Toreth had been assigned to Judith Campion’s investigation, Carl had transferred himself to the case. By that point, he’d been promoted to Assistant Director of Homeland Security, and he cited the case as ‘sensitive to diplomatic reconciliation.’ Carl had assumed that he just liked the camaraderie of working with such a successful investigator, not recognizing— _or admitting_ —that there was something else.

Of course he’d since learned that he had been self-delusional on an enormous scale. And now he had to admit that while through treatment, he _had_ ‘beaten’ his urges, it had only lasted for a few months. The dreams—urgent, repellant, and oh, so painfully, frustratingly fulfilling—were back. The only difference was that now, he didn’t care that he was sick and perverted. He didn’t care that he now only felt real, complete, _alive_ in his dreams. 

His thoughts drifted back to words that had horrified him when uttered by Luke Elliot: “If you’d heard all your life that wanting guys was an abomination, you’d hate being that way, too.” In his mind, Carl paraphrased the rest, ‘but it still wouldn’t make you not want them.’ Or _him_.

And he had no one to blame but himself. All of this was his own fault. He’d lied to the psychiatrist, well not lied really, just kind of omitted part of the truth. Carl was actually surprised that they hadn’t pried further, hadn’t made him expose all of his perversion during their sessions. He could only suppose that they trusted his honest repentance and assumed that he would do whatever was necessary to “get better.” He’d told them all about the dreams, waking up hot and sated with ejaculate on himself and his sheets. He’d told them about the yearnings, wanting the actual physical experience with a man —he would never give them Toreth’s name, just that it was a faceless male body—because anything that hinted at a real-life connection might make them dig further.

Because there was more, gloriously, stupidly, unbelievably more. Carl had both committed a mortal sin and broken the law of the United States in an act so dramatic that it changed him on a fundamental level.

ADiaWYHM

After the awkward ride to the airport, he and Toreth had discovered that there was a raging hurricane over the north Atlantic that was disrupting all polar travel to Europe. Toreth’s flight had been cancelled, and he was rescheduled to leave the next morning on a flight that would go to Lisbon, where he could transfer to a flight to New London. Carl had his secretary reserve Toreth a room at an airport hotel. Then realizing that the police would have a fit if he left Toreth unguarded, Carl asked her to change the reservation to a suite and call his wife to tell her he had business to attend to and wouldn’t be home that evening. Fortunately, the car from the embassy arrived with Toreth’s belongings and they took it to the hotel.

To this day, Carl couldn’t remember how it started. They had a suite with a common sitting room and two bedrooms. They’d ordered a sumptuous meal from room service, and Carl had been talking about his wife, and how they’d wanted kids but were unable to have them. It was warm in the room and Carl felt full and a little tipsy, though, he’d only had two glasses of wine. 

The next thing he knew, he was sitting with Toreth way too close. He remembered Toreth touching his arm, then later his shoulder. He found himself not really listening as Toreth talked about a case; instead he was intensely aware only of Toreth’s expressive lips curving, opening, smiling, while everything else in Carl’s vision was fuzzy or blanked out. 

He remembered saying that he’d never been unfaithful to his wife, and that he loved her very much. A small smile had formed on Toreth’s lips when he said that. At that sight, a sick, warm heat had curled in the lower part of his back, inching upwards and forwards to his prick. He remembered Toreth asking him if he’d ever been with a man, and remembered distinctly his shocked “No!” 

Toreth looked at him then, face thoughtful, with the red-gold light of the sunset glinting off his blonde hair. Carl closed his eyes and swallowed and said again, faintly, “No.” Toreth moved closer, and Carl, opening his eyes, did not move away. Toreth’s face softened and Carl felt the warmth increase at the sight. A hand brushed fleetingly against his cock and Carl cried out softly and almost came at the contact. 

“Please,” he sighed, lifting his own hand— _why_? To push Toreth’s hand away? To force him to put it back on his erection?

Toreth stood up and Carl, disconcerted, moved to follow. “No, please, I’m sorry…. I meant…”

Toreth turned, a quizzical expression on his face. He asked, voice seductive, urgent, “What did you mean?” Carl looked at him blankly, head spinning. 

Toreth, obviously changing tactics, asked, “What do you want?”

Carl looked away, unwilling to ask. If he voiced it, it would mean that he wanted some abomination done to him. After several long seconds, Toreth picked up his glass, and draining it, turned to the door to his bedroom. “Well, when you decide, I’ll be in bed.” He looked back coyly, “Though don’t wait too long. I want to get back on New London time, so I may be asleep soon.”

Carl had sat there for what felt like hours, though he was sure that if he checked his watch, only a few minutes would have gone by. All of sudden, once Toreth had left the room, he could think clearly again. It was as if, once Carl admitted thinking about it, the man had become sex incarnate, almost a walking orgy. So, what _did_ he want? He wasn’t homosexual, he knew that. He’d never wanted any other men, not even as a teen, when boys experimented. 

Closing his eyes, he tried to be as honest with himself as possible. He wanted warmth, and fingers, and forbidden touches that made him feel illicit and debauched. He wanted the feel of a hard-muscled body against him. He wanted Toreth’s lips and mouth and fingers and…well, maybe more. But, he wouldn’t know exactly how much more sitting on the sofa. Carl stood up and entered Toreth’s bedroom

Toreth was lying in bed, naked but for the sheet tossed over his hips and legs. He was reading his handscreen, but set it down with a small smile when Carl entered. Toreth spoke, his voice was low and seductive. “Well, I am certainly happy at your decision.” His eyes narrowed. “What about you?”

Carl could barely choke down the revulsion rising at himself and it must have shown in his face. Instead of being insulted or repulsed, though, Toreth laughed. “You want this, and you hate yourself for wanting this, don’t you?” Carl looked down, face flushed, but nodded.

“That’s not good enough.” Toreth’s voice had sharpened. “I don’t want to be accused later of taking advantage or forcing myself on you. You’ll have to say it.”

Carl opened his mouth, but closed it quickly almost wanting to throw up. That seemed to delight Toreth even more, for his smile widened. “You’ll have to say, ‘I love my wife and we want to have children. I also want you to suck my cock.’ Go on, you can do it.”

Carl shook his head mutely, dazed and appalled. Not only would he have to suffer this perversion, he would have to ask for it? No, he couldn’t do it. He turned to leave, but with his hand on the doorknob, he stopped.

His senses screaming and his heart pounding so loud he couldn’t even hear the first few words out of his mouth, he said, voice soft but clear, “I love my wife very much and we want to have children. I am horrified at myself, but I want you to suck my cock.”

A soft chuckle came from behind him, and Carl was certain he couldn’t move from that spot. However, a soft touch on his shoulder made him turn around, and a gentle hand led him to the bed, where he was left standing as Toreth, with his erection jutting before him, crawled onto the mattress. After adjusting himself so that his cock lay flat, Toreth lay on his stomach, and grasping Carl’s hips pulled the man closer to the bed. At the same time, Toreth lifted his head and swallowed Carl’s cock to the root, Toreth’s lips nestling in the curls at the base.

Carl gasped and almost fell over. As the mouth began to slide up and down his member, the head squeezed by throat muscles, Carl looked at the sight before him, committing it to memory. Toreth was sprawled across the bed, his lithe back and buttocks tensed slightly to hold his shoulders and head up, his head bobbing as his mouth worked, his forearms and hands holding Carl’s hips still. It was mesmerizing, and combined with the thorough pressure on his prick, Carl gave into the moment, and grasping Toreth’s hair, moaned and came.

His knees buckled, and without the strong arms around him, Carl would have fell. Instead, he was allowed to slump and rest his torso on the bed, and Toreth moved behind him. Thinking the worst, Carl stiffened and would have tried to move if he hadn’t felt so boneless. He was surprised, though when he felt Toreth kneel behind him, and pushing his legs apart slightly, started to lick at his anus. 

Sordid—so sordid. This was revolting and depraved—Carl groaned—and so good. The tongue skimmed around the tight muscles protecting his asshole, then teased its tip inside, over and over again until Carl’s cock had filled again, and he was pushing back against something long and slick—surely not Toreth’s cock, which Carl knew was thicker than that—a finger perhaps? Whatever it was slid along his passage, striking a set of nerves that caused Carl’s eyes to cross with waves of pleasure washing up his spine.

The pressure increased as Carl’s opening was coaxed wider. He whispered over and over, get louder with each repetition, “This is disgusting and filthy….so filthy… so filthy… so filthy… so filthy… so filthy…yes—yes,…YES!... I have to be so sick to want this… Ahhghhhh…..yes, God, yes, yes, please, please, please… fuck me!” 

As he got louder, he felt Toreth speed up, a soft chuckle emanating from above his head. It was only then that he realized that the head of Toreth’s cock was already in him, almost fucking him. Carl pushed back, hard, almost seeing stars at the shockwaves of pain that cascaded through his body once he was fully seated on Toreth’s erection. He lay there for a moment shuddering, then caught his breath as Toreth started to move, his cock hitting that sensitive spot again and again. 

Carl wished he could see himself, his legs spread, rutting like a sex-maddened animal. He wished he could see Toreth’s tight buttocks clenching as he drove into Carl’s defiled asshole. He wished he could see his own face, flushed with shame and desire and carnality. All he could see, though, were his hands clenching in the sheets, as he pushed back against the rod that was driving into him. 

He wanted it to last forever. However, when a hand grasped his hair, wrenching so hard at his scalp that his head jerked up, the brutal sensuality of the motion caused him to grind his own dripping cock against the mattress until he exploded, spurting on the sheets and mattress and dripping down on the carpet. He grunted when, a few moment later, Toreth sighed and came himself. 

Carl didn’t remember how he’d gotten back to his bed, or even what they said to each other the next morning, though he was certain it was accompanied by a lot of flushed expressions on his part. He didn’t remember how he faced his wife later that day, or reported to the Director on the successful close of the case, or went to Mass. He actually barely remembered the sex.

Until the dreams began.

ADiaWYHM

He was an agent of the United States government, with a beautiful, loving wife and a life in America. He didn’t want to give that up. But what about his other desires and needs? They could not figure in his plans, not with religious attitudes and the legal system of North America. But God, he wanted Toreth, not other men, just Senior Para-Investigator Val Toreth. With the circumstances between the government of North America and that of the European Administration being what they were, he would never see the man again, fortunately. Carl could suffer his perversion in his dreams.

At least, he hoped so.


End file.
